


magic

by threadoflife



Series: femlock verse [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, F/F, Femlock, Femslash, Genderbending, Hair Washing, Hand & Finger Kink, Joan is Sherlock's new hair stylist, Sherlock has a thing for Joan's hands, What else is new
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 15:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11969838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threadoflife/pseuds/threadoflife
Summary: At her favourite hair stylist's, Joan is the new employee.Sherlock may have a bit of a thing for her.





	magic

**Author's Note:**

> silly little drabbling over at 
> 
> http://wssh-watson.tumblr.com/post/162131479227/wssh-watson-john-is-the-new-hairstylist-at
> 
> because i adore picturing joan like this

Joan is the new hairstylist at Sherlock’s favourite hair salon. In a pink-blue pixie, a tank top, jeans, and with a couple piercings (eight, Sherlock counts), she is a stark contrast to the elegantly dressed professionals—all in strict black—but she must provide quality enough to be allowed to work like that.

She is easy-going, direct, and friendly, doesn’t balk at Sherlock’s brisk tone but replies in kind, in a manner that’s still polite. Her colleagues eye her in a “we’re sorry but you have to go through this now” way, and Sherlock wonders what they will tell Joan about her, after. Not that it matters. This is business, of course; this is Sherlock providing for her transport because if she doesn’t, her damn hair will go haywire, and she doesn’t approve of that.

It is just transport, anyway. She always divorces herself from her transport, is far deep into the mind palace whenever she’s here. When she resurfaces, they’re done, and she can leave (with a clipped word and a complaint or two).

It doesn’t work, this time. Joan washes her hair with hands that are…. Sherlock thinks, reluctantly but inevitably, with hands that are magic. She kneads her fingers relentlessly in the fabric of her skirt, brain going sluggish and lazy. Oh, God. Those smaller than average hands and their strong but competent fingers…. magic, sheer, pure magic from a sort Sherlock hadn’t believed existed. Her eyes flutter shut, not because she disappears into her mind palace: because it’s pleasant. Oh, hell, fuck pleasant; it’s heaven.

Her toes are curling. Her hands are still kneading her thighs. She’s got her teeth gritted against the moan behind them.

Ridiculous. Utterly, wholly ridiculous, and Sherlock doesn’t regret it one bit.

When she’s done—Joan doing more magic in her hair, and Sherlock has never liked her face more than when Joan’s hands are tilting it to the side and back—there are no clipped words, no complaints. Sherlock watches the nose piercing move a little as Joan scrunches her nose up (a small, dainty, button nose) as she takes Sherlock’s money. She watches Joan’s thin lips purse trying to operate the till (the lip ring is regularly gnawed on, straight white teeth biting into it when she’s nervous or anxious or horny and—), watches her tongue dart out to lick at them.

The toe curling is back with a vengeance. Joan’s hands are nowhere near her.

She stutters out a hasty, “Thank you,” grabs Joan’s arm on an impulse, scribbles her phone number on her forearm so quickly as if Joan wouldn’t notice she’s doing it this way, and stumbles out of there with flaming cheeks.

 


End file.
